Acceptance
by ChibiKagura
Summary: Perhaps he really was the emotionless jerk that she had always assumed him to be. But the alcohol made her not forgive, but accept, and she hated that as much as she hated knowing that she had enjoyed what transpired between them.


**Characters**: Tashigi and Zoro  
**Rating:** M (not a pwp/lemon, but sex is mentioned)  
**Disclaimer:** Not my characters. I just enjoy playing with the blank canvas that Oda creates.  
**A/N:** Here's my first posted One Piece fic. Yay! I wrote this on a whim, although I have been trying to churn out a decent fic for this couple for months. I tried to take a more adult perspective on this couple, which tends to be given the "fluff treatment" by the majority from the fandom. Not that there's anything wrong with fluff, but a little variety is nice. While this ficlet is unbetaed, I do make the effort to keep my writing coherent and typo-free, but I am also experimenting with new style formats. If you think the internal monologue bit fails (or if you have any other comments or critiques) please let me know!

Acceptance

Tashigi had never planned on sleeping with him, yet here she was, lying naked next to him, the feared pirate swordsman who, until three hours and several drinks ago, she had claimed to loathe with every fiber of her being. He snored loudly while she lay awake, the cheap tavern sheets aggravating the scratches and welts he had left on her bare back. She shivered. The bastard had taken the comforter for himself. She felt a twinge of jealousy, or possibly anger. Zoro groaned softly, but continued to sleep soundly.

_How could he sleep after what happened?_

Perhaps he really was the emotionless jerk that she had always assumed him to be. To him, this was probably just drunken sex. Pirates were pigs, all of them.

_So why did you let yourself become so vulnerable?_

It was the alcohol. That was the most obvious answer. But then she remembered when she first saw him in Loguetown. He had a mysterious, dangerous presence that smacked her across the face and, as much as she hated to admit it, made her crave to know more about him. And then she had learned who he was, what he did, and she was overcome with rage, not at him, but what he could have been had he chosen the path of justice.

_What could have been…?_

She hated him for being a pirate. She hated herself for being a Marine, and for letting her curiosity get the better of her. The alcohol had let her, not forgive, but accept, and she hated that. The alcohol had made her see past the face on the wanted posters. Dammit, because of the alcohol, she had forgotten who she was, who he was, what both of them stood for. She wished he could have been a marine, or a civilian.

_But you know you wouldn't have liked it if he were anyone else._

Tashigi curled up in a ball, cuddling her pillow like a child would a stuffed toy. She couldn't deny that she had enjoyed it, as much as it had hurt. It still hurt, in fact. But she had felt blades sink through her flesh like butter, and she had survived the utter humiliation of defeat. Pain was an old friend of hers. The pain kept her grounded, made her realize that, even in her drunken haze, she wasn't dreaming. She remembered the roughness of his calloused hands on her breasts, the sharp scent of beer on his breath, and the intensity of his gaze as he looked down at her. The last image was the strongest of all. He had half-squinted at her, as if viewing her through a clouded window, seeing her but not really seeing her at all. She was glad he didn't look too closely at her face. She was sure she had been a mess.

She also remembered the way his muscles rippled under her fingers as she touched him, the salty taste of his scarred skin, and the sensation of him inside her, stretching her, testing her. She had succumbed to the challenge, and she wouldn't have backed down even if two hundred marines had come bursting through the door. But they had been alone, and looking back, she was grateful for that. If anyone had heard her scream his name, she would be on trial for treason come sunrise. She had been loud, while he remained quiet until the end, when he buried his face in the crook of her neck and half-whispered, half-growled something into her skin before finishing inside of her.

_You'd do this again. You know you would._

There would be no chance of this ever happening again. They would separate, and meet again, but she knew there would be no mention of this event from either of them .They would fight, pirate versus marine, swordsman and swordswoman. But at the same time, she longed to know what he said to her. Was it a name? It couldn't have been hers. He didn't know it. Like her, he had merely lost himself in the moment, the pleasure, and the blessed, drunken numbness. Just because she lived and breathed his name didn't mean that he would ever yell hers in the throes of passion. It was just a label, a lie. Yet she could still feel the tingle of his lips against her neck.

Tashigi reached over and ran her hand through his short hair, down his sinewy neck, and across his shoulders. He grunted sleepily and rolled over, loosening the cocoon of covers that hid the rest of him. Taking advantage of this, she pulled some of the slack over her cold, naked body. She could smell traces of him on the coarse fabric, and before she could stop herself, she began to cry. Not wanting to disturb the man next to her, she muffled her sobs with her pillow, burying her face in the softness. Listening to the drone of his snores, feeling the fading throbs of pain between her legs, and wanting to hate the man next to her, she cried herself to sleep.


End file.
